Opportunity Rises
by Knotted
Summary: A series of One-Shots delving deeper into the life of Handsome Jack and showing what things may have looked like if we followed his story instead. One-Shots do not connect to each other and are in no specific order.
1. Chapter 1

Shot One

On Lilith and The Warrior

**A/N: Hey everyone, just a quick side note. If you're here and also read Dragonsong, there are still plans to finish it. I just need to rekindle my writing abilities with something different. If you're new, hi! These are one-shots of Handsome Jack's life, and they will not usually (if ever) connect in order. Some will be heavy like this one, others will be more lighthearted. Borderlands and all its characters belong to Gearbox. Here goes nothing.**

Heat. It was so hot. So bright, yet so dark at the same time. It was dangerous, and one wrong step would send nearly anyone to a painful death. Maybe this place was similar to hell, with all its lava and that eerie feeling of being caged in. For a moment, Jack pondered the thought and let it entertain him. He could leave hell anytime he wanted. Like a god. A savior. He could also come anytime he wanted, just to give it a taste and see what the afterlife might be like for the bandits he'd eliminated from Pandora. Just to see what the Vault Hunters would experience for the rest of eternity, he would visit this fire-filled hellhole again and again. He thought about the New-U station and what he'd originally programmed its professional female voice to say. A few witty lines and a push to get started again. _Don't worry about the afterlife,_ she would tell the newly revived soldiers. _Hell is reserved for pedophiles and people who buy Jakobs munitions. _And the Vault Hunters who murdered his daughter.

The Vault of the Warrior. He looked down at his command station and ran his fingers over a few of the buttons. They were hot to the touch. It probably wouldn't be wise to stay long, especially having such a vital person with him. Oh well. They could always come back. The ground trembled beneath his feet, struggling to hold back the power buried below. A soft smile formed on his lips. _Just a little longer, boy. I'm eager, too. _He looked up at the woman above him, his means of finally getting what he'd been longing for, and watched the bright purple mist swirl around her hungrily. With a Siren charging the Vault Key, the Warrior would be his to command and nothing, no one, would be able to stop him. Not the Vault Hunters, not even the memories.

"_Jack!_"

He smirked at the Siren's angry cries, feeling his blood boil.

"Did you have something you wanted to say, Lilith?"

"I have enough to say to you to keep myself talking for a lifetime."

"Oh, conversation. How nice. By all means, please. Come down and _talk to me._" He pressed a button near the center of the control panel a little harder than he intended, unable to hide his rage, and Lilith fell hard onto the stone at his feet, gasping at the pain. The purple mist faded, and she looked up at him with disgust.

"Here I am," he told her. "All yours. So, go ahead! Come here and let me know what it is you're thinking. I'd be _more_ than happy to hear it."

Lilith struggled to her feet in a daze, pulling at the device fastened around her neck. Despite her best efforts, it wouldn't let her move any further.

"What's that, sweetheart? You can't?" Jack turned his back to her, pushing another smaller button at the station and tightening her collar. He closed his eyes as he listened to her sputter, thoroughly enjoying the sound of her pain. She coughed a few times, and he went back to making sure the station was up to par for when he needed it.

"Vault Hunter," Lilith choked out. Jack froze, listening. "We don't have much time. The Vault Key is almost charged… it's only a matter of time before Jack awakens the Warrior. I need you to hurry."

The Vault Hunters. She would talk to them with the little breath left in her lungs, but not to him. It didn't matter. She would only lead them right into his trap, and the faster they arrived, the sooner he could finish what he started. _You'll never do it, John. You don't have what it takes to run Hyperion. _He thought of the things he'd been told numerous times when he was younger, hoping to make his way higher up the ladder. Fortunately, he'd had the last word, and realized he had what it took to run not only Hyperion, but an entire planet. He paced a few times to calm down before he walked back over to Lilith and kneeled in front of her, bringing his face level with hers.

"Still keeping in touch with your buddies, huh? I thought we agreed you were helping me now." The ground shook again, and he grabbed Lilith by her collar to keep her steady. He wanted her to look at him when she spoke.

"I'll never work for you, asshole."

"Ah," he said, throwing her down. "Language."

"You don't have to lecture me," Lilith said defiantly. Her red hair fell in her eyes, and they flickered a bright purple that wound its way to her feet through her tattoos. "I'm not your daughter."

"You'll never be anything like Angel." Jack pulled a small retractable knife out of his coat pocket, flicking it open and pushing Lilith onto her back. She winced as the searing rock burned her arms, but refused to scream until he dug the knife into the exposed flesh above her hips. Starting slowly, he carved out his name, watching it heal as soon as he was done. _Jack._ It was a pity there would never be a scar. He pushed the knife in deeper and she started kicking, but he only held her down with more force. As he continued, he plunged the blade into her side repeatedly with each word he spoke. "Don't. Talk. About. My. _Daughter."_

It was refreshing to see her laying there, all her defiance gone. She turned her face away from him, staring into the lava a few feet away with nothing more to say.

"You there, Lil?" came a voice from her communications device. It was the damned drunken hunter again. He wouldn't leave her be.

Jack ripped the ECHO device from her wrist, holding it up to his face as he walked back over to the command station and sent her back up into the air to do her job.

"Lilith has quite the little mouth on her," he said, speaking into the device. "And as it turns out, when that Eridium is pumping through her body, I can stab her over… and over… and _over—_ and it just heals right back up."


	2. Chapter 2

Shot Two

On Angel Growing Up

**A/N: No one knows what Jack's wife's name was or what she looked like or anything like that. So I am taking the liberty of coming up with it on my own. Also, so there's no confusion, depending on the time the shot takes place, Jack's name will change. In earlier memories he is John, and in later ones, he is Jack. **

It had been raining for days. Just a gentle rain, the sort that puts a person to sleep on the couch for hours at a time and has them waking up delirious, wondering where they were and why they fell asleep. The sky was a pitiful shade of gray and it was getting late. The sound of the rain battering the windows was making it hard to hear anything else. There was a commercial playing on the small TV in the corner, but John ignored it, scrubbing a few dishes at the kitchen sink, all the while wishing he had someone else there to do the work for him. Elesia would be home within the hour, last he'd checked. Maybe they would both forget about the dishes and go to bed. He was exhausted.

The rain started to come down harder as he set a newly cleaned plate aside and grabbed another one, bored. There was a flash of lightning, and he mentally reminded himself to unlock the front door so Elesia could come in without having to stand there first. A loud, deep rumble of thunder followed soon after. It was the perfect sort of weather for a full night of sleep, and that was something he hadn't seen in over a month. It sounded refreshing. There was another clap of thunder, and a small hand grabbed the back of John's leg, startling him. He dropped the plate he was holding and it shattered on the tiled floor, sending sharp ceramic bits sprawling across the kitchen. He wheeled around and looked down at his daughter, who looked back up at him with her bright blue eyes, scared.

"I'll clean it up, daddy, I promise! I'll do it right now!"

"You're supposed to be in bed, Angel."

She was already scrambling around the kitchen, picking up the broken fragments of the plate with her hands.

"Angel, honey, stop. You'll cut yourself," John said.

"I'm sorry."

He wondered what she was apologizing so profusely for.

"Just… Go get back in bed."

She clasped her hands together and shuffled her feet nervously, looking down, careful not to cut her feet on the mess she'd caused.

"I can't sleep. I'm scared."

"Oh, for the love— of what? The thunder?"

She nodded, looking ashamed.

"There's much better things to be afraid of than thunder, Angel." John grabbed a broom and hastily swept the broken pieces into a pile in the middle of the floor before picking his daughter up and setting her on the counter, where he inspected her feet and hands for cuts. Finding nothing, he bent down and smiled at her.

"Like bandits?" she asked.

"Like bandits," he repeated.

"Why do people become bandits?"

"Because, honey… some people exist just to be bad."

She seemed to take that as a good enough answer, and stared out the window at the lightning. Her long black hair was a mess, and it looked just like her mother's right after she woke up every morning.

"What is thunder?"

"It's just a sound. It's the sound lightning makes."

"That's kind of neat… but still a little scary. If it makes that sound I don't want to be in it."

"Look," John said. "The chances of you getting struck by lightning are one in a million."

"It can strike me?!"

"It can, but it won't. Watch."

He walked out of the kitchen and over to the front door, unlocking it and stepping outside. There was a sheet of water pouring over the sides of the small awning covering the terrible concrete slab they called a porch, and he walked through it, letting himself get soaked. He stood in the rain for several long moments, watching the road and wondering if he'd see Elesia come home. The lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, and he could hear Angel's frightened cries from inside.

"Daddy?"

"I'm fine, Angel. Why don't you come out and see for yourself?"

John watched the porch, waiting for his daughter to show up, blinking the rain out of his eyes. When he saw her bare feet on the concrete, he walked over to her and took her hand, leading her out into the mud and rain. Another flash of lightning in the distance and her face was buried in the side of his leg as she clung to his soaked jeans, and he rested a hand on her back.

"Listen," he said. The thunder started quietly and grew more intense as it made its way toward them through the clouds. Her grip on him tightened, but as soon as the sound stopped, she let go.

"Is that it?"

John nodded at her, and she smiled. There was something about her smile that melted his heart.

"Are you ready to go inside?" he asked.

"Nope."

"No?"

"It's fun out here!"

And so the two of them spent close to the next hour in the rain, filling it with much unnecessary splashing and yelling. It was dark, but the light from the windows was enough for them to see what they were doing, and hearing the sound of Angel's laughter nearly made him forget how tired he was.

"What— what are you _doing_?"

John turned around to see Elesia running toward them from around the side of the house, quickly taking cover under the awning. She looked shocked, but quickly hid it as Angel ran toward her.

"Mommy! You're home!"

Elesia picked her up, hugging her tight and looking over at John as she did so, narrowing her eyes.

"It's so good to see you, honey," she told Angel. "You're soaked and your feet are _covered_ in mud. Will you go get a bath started so you can get clean?"

"Mm-hmm!" Angel ran inside, leaving muddy footprints in her wake, and disappeared into the bathroom.

"_John._" Elesia glared at her husband as he stepped inside, taking his shoes off on the matt and leaving them there. "What the _hell_ are you thinking? She should be in bed, not running around in a rainstorm in the dead of night! I knew I shouldn't have gone anywhere. You have no idea what you're doing anymore."

"Welcome home, it's nice to see you too, babe," John said sarcastically. He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she shrugged away from him, looking offended.

"You had _Angel _out in the rain, playing in the mud and cold, John. _Angel. _She's going to get sick, because of you. She can't handle being sick and you know it. She'll be even harder to keep in check."

"Calm down," John muttered. "She'll be fine."

Elesia made her way into the kitchen to take off her jacket, stepping on the pile of broken plate shards halfway. She winced at the sound, and turned back to her husband.

"It was an accident," he told her.

"Was it?"

She stomped off into the bathroom where Angel was taking her bath, and John didn't see her again for several minutes. When she came out, Angel was wearing one of his shirts. It almost looked like a dress on her, but it would have to do until the pajamas were clean. Elesia took her by the hand and walked down the hall.

"Are you coming to say goodnight or not, John?" she called.

"I'll wait," he told her. He locked the front door and went to change out of his damp clothing, and once Elesia was finished saying her goodnights, she opened the door to the bedroom and got into bed without saying a word to him. He shut the light off as he left, not wanting to argue that night.

He walked across the hall and knocked gently on Angel's door before opening it slowly. She was still awake, and had been waiting to see if he would come in.

"Hi, daddy." She rolled over to look at him better and propped herself up on her elbow. "I had fun in the rain," she whispered.

"So did I," John told her.

"It was like an adventure, and I learned something new. Why is mommy mad?"

"Because she's afraid you'll catch a cold." There was so much more to it than that.

"Colds aren't that bad."

"I know."

"Daddy?"

"Hmm."

"Can I go on more adventures one day? When I'm a little older? Kind of like tonight, but different. I decided I want to see other places besides just this one."

"We've talked about this before, Angel. It's not safe for you to be anywhere else." John brushed her hair back, forcing a smile. "You have to stay right here, with me."

"Because of bandits?"

"There are even scarier things than bandits. You're different, pumpkin. There are people who would want to use you to do bad things, and we don't want that, do we? If you stay here, I can keep you safe. I love you, Angel. I would never use you to do bad things. As long as you're with me, you're safe."

"I know," she said, barely able to keep her eyes open. "I love you, daddy."

"I love you too, Angel."


	3. Chapter 3

Shot Three

On Hyperion

As Jack sat at his desk running codes for what seemed to be the millionth time, he found himself at his wit's end. There was nothing special about his office, and he deserved so much more than he had. No matter how hard he tried, or how much more work he did than everyone else, he'd never once been promoted. The most recent promotion had been given to a man by the name of Jennings, and he now sat in a fancier office several floors higher than the office he'd had next door. The most the president could give Jack was an "office with a view," and he hated it. He might've liked the view if he wasn't forced to look at it daily while he worked. There was a hefty sigh from next to him.

"Can I go home?"

He looked over at Angel, who sat next to him twirling her index finger in circles over his desktop, staring at her lap.

"No, Angel, you may not 'go home.'"

"It's boring here."

"Yeah? Tell me about it." Jack pushed a pile of papers over to her without looking. "You're the one who wanted to see what I do every day. Read those to me."

"Actually, I didn't ever ask—"

"I'm waiting for you to start reading the papers, Angel."

"But—"

"Isn't this better than being at home? Do you _want _to go home? Because I have so many more questions about you I can answer with a few more tests _at home._ Shouldn't this be a bit of a _break_ for you?" He continued through clenched teeth. "Read me the codes."

She reluctantly began to read to him, unable to understand what it was she was reading, and he entered them as she went. The only thing different about this particular day filled with desk-sitting and code-entering was that he wasn't doing the assigned work—he was doing his own. His wife was dead, his face was ruined, and there wasn't anything he felt he deserved more than opportunity. He had a hunch, and it was driving him insane… vaults. Eriduim. Power. Control. If he could figure out the right codes, he'd be able to figure out which planet held the most potential for him by dispatching satellites. He'd have to be subtle about it, though. In a perfect situation, he would only have to send one. Eridium was rare, but there had to be more of it somewhere. Grandma used to tell him stories of the stuff, but then again, Grandma also owned and operated torture devices.

There was a knock on the office door and Jennings walked in, making Jack promptly hide the codes he was working on. He strode over to the desk and put his hands on the surface, leaning over it with a smirk on his face.

"How's that coding coming, Johnny?"

Jack winced at the sound of the terrible nickname.

"It's Jack."

"If I remember correctly," Jennings said, reaching across the desk and grabbing the name plate, "this says John."

Jack smiled up at him contemptuously, grabbing the name plate and putting it back where it was, clearing his throat.

"Don't touch my things."

"Is someone sad because he didn't get the promotion he wanted?"

"Yes," Jack said dully, beginning to enter the codes he was actually assigned. "So sad. Thank you for being the positive role model I expected, having brought my ten-year-old daughter into the office today. You're great. Let's have a drink sometime."

"Oh!" Jennings feigned surprise, looking over at Angel and smiling. "Hey there, sweetie. Tell me what it's like to have a failure in a mask for a father."

"Get out," Jack commanded, standing. "Alright? Leave. Go on back up to your perfect little office and look out your big picture window—"

"You know what, that sounds like a great idea, John. Thanks for the suggestion."

As he turned to walk away, Jack muttered a few words at his back.

"—and go ahead and jump out of it as soon as you're finished admiring the view."

He waited at his desk for several minutes after Jennings left, attempting to mindlessly continue his work. He shouldn't even have to be entering codes. The office Jennings was headed back to should've been his. It would be his. Eventually.

"Angel, stack these papers back up," he said, pushing the scattered code sheets toward his daughter. "We're done here."

"We're going home?"

"No. We're switching offices." He walked toward the door with a few papers of his own in hand and looked back at her as she started to stand up. "Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes. I've got to talk to someone."

Talk. That's exactly what he would do. Striding down the hallway with his head held high, he nodded at everyone he passed and took the stairs up several levels not wanting to force conversation on the elevator. At Jennings' door, he let himself in without knocking and approached him. He was doing just as he said he would, standing at the full-wall window, looking down into the courtyards several stories below.

"Hello, Jennings," Jack chimed, sounding as friendly as he could manage. Jennings turned around, raising an eyebrow. "I just wanted to pay you a visit and say I'm sorry for taking your promotion in such a bad way. I'll try to be a better sport from now on… what do you say?"

"I was wondering when you'd come around. See, you have so much to look forward to, John." He spread his arms wide, motioning to the office around him. "The perks are so much better than what we had before."

"I'll say," Jack laughed, plastering a too-wide smile on his face and pacing in front of the desk. He picked up Jennings' name plate, which was much larger and heavier than his, and walked over to him. "Is this _solid gold?_ Now _that's_ impressive." Taking one hard swing, he smashed the plate into the back of Jennings' head, watching him crumple to the ground. Jack got down next to him, pressing one knee into his ribcage and wrapping both hands around his throat.

"J-John," Jennings choked.

"It's Jack," he whispered as he squeezed harder. "Idiot."

Standing, he pulled Jennings up and shoved him into the window, which cracked and gave way at his weight. He waited around just long enough to watch the body hit the concrete, and exited the office to go back down the stairs, mixing in with the commotion and throng of other office workers who'd seen Jennings fall. He mimicked their startled cries, and asked around about what had happened until they reached the office and broken window in question. Mr. Tassiter, the President of Hyperion, stood near the desk, looking sick. The crowd got quiet, waiting for him to speak, and when he did so, his voice shook.

"Does anyone know what happened in here?" he asked. There were quiet murmurs throughout the room and hallway, but the general consensus was that no one had a clue.

"I saw him earlier and he seemed to be fine," said a woman from somewhere to the left. "Did he… jump?"

Jack stepped forward, peeking around the door frame and shrugging.

"Looks like the day to day monotony finally drove someone insane," he suggested. He took a few steps over to Tassiter, who looked horrified, and leaned in with a whisper. "It also looks like someone has a new job opening."

Somewhere within the crowd, a frightened blue-eyed girl pushed her way out and ran down the hallway, back into her father's office. She knew exactly what had happened, and it scared her senseless.


	4. Chapter 4

Shot Four

On Being Happy

**A/N: I know there are a few of you hiding out there… so thanks for reading!**

"Wait. Wait, wait. One more." John sat up in bed as he watched his wife wander around the room wrapped in a thin gray blanket, picking up various articles of clothing off the floor with the intentions of putting them back on. She was laughing, and would occasionally look over at him and show off the smile that always put him in a daze. Her long black hair fell over her bare shoulders, and her lips parted slightly when she looked back at him, frozen halfway through bending down to pick up her shirt.

"Are you asking for another smile, another kiss, or for me to come back to bed?" she asked with a quiet laugh.

"A, B, or C… pick your answer, Leece." He smirked at her playfully.

"I have to pick just one?"

"Ugh, _no._ There's always an 'all of the above.' Haven't you ever taken a test before?"

Elesia crawled back into bed and sat next to him, reaching out and brushing the side of his face.

"I would love to stay," she told him. "But it's after seven and they'll be waiting on us."

John was torn. The two of them had agreed a week ago to meet some friends in town, and although it would be rude to completely abandon the plans, the temptation was there. It would be so easy to just never say anything about it, to stay home and say they forgot. The bed was so warm, and her skin was so soft… at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if he actually did forget the plans.

"Like I said," he began, pulling her closer. "One more."

* * *

Later on, they found themselves walking down the street toward the bar, listening to its characteristic music grow louder as they got closer, kicking up snow along the way. Everyone seemed to be out for the night; it was Friday and the Hyperion manual laborers were done with their shifts. Some of them looked quite depressed, walking and talking to no one, and the only sound they made was the crunching of the snow being packed down beneath their boots. John opened the door for Elesia and the music and chatter grew louder, and he offered to take her coat from her. Upon removing it he noticed something about her shirt was off, and nudged her.

"Your buttons aren't even," he whispered, laughing. "Did you get dressed too fast?" She looked down at her shirt and back up at him, embarrassed, before running off to the restroom to fix it.

"Hey, Johnny!"

Hearing his least favorite nickname, John turned his attention toward a table in the far right corner of the bar where two men already sat; Jared Jennings and Richard Moorin, long-time friends and co-workers. The nickname had become a sort of joke that would always stick around, despite his best efforts. He worked his way around several people before pulling up an extra chair for Elesia and sitting down with them.

"Look at this," Jennings said, looking over at Moorin. "The guy gets married and all of a sudden he's late to everything."

John shrugged, smiling and keeping quiet. If he was late to everything for the same reason he was late that evening, he'd never object or argue.

"Where is she, anyway?" Moorin asked.

"Bathroom," John told them, looking through the crowd. "Here she comes."

Elesia took a seat next to him, smiling around at the others before she leaned over to John.

"Thank you," she whispered, smoothing her shirt down.

"So who's grabbin' the first round this time?" Moorin asked, eager to get a drink. The others looked at him, and he deflated. "Is it my turn again already? Damn…"

"Didn't you just get a raise?" John questioned. "You've got money now. Pretty sure you had it coming, buddy."

"Don't worry about me, Rich," Elesia tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling shyly. "I'll just have water."

John looked over at her curiously, and she shrugged.

"Just water? You sure, Leece?" Jennings asked.

"I'm sure. I just don't feel much like drinking tonight… I'll be fine, John." she added, seeing that he was still looking at her.

Moorin went to pick up the first round, and it was gone before they knew it. It always seemed to go the fastest, because there was so much conversation going on. They talked about work and cursed the men and women in higher up positions who told them what to do, because it was the only time they wouldn't be heard or judged for it, and they laughed at jokes told at each other's expense. By the time they were ready for their second round, everyone seemed to be in high spirits.

"Alright," Jennings said, standing up. "I've got this one."

"Are you sure you don't want something, Leece?" John asked. "If you're worried about either of them paying for it, I'll get it for you myself."

"Nah," she affirmed. "I'm really okay. Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

John obliged, though feeling slightly concerned, and followed her into a secluded corner of the bar that held nothing but a few tables and chairs, a fireplace, and a beat up old piano. Elesia didn't say anything to him, but rather took a few moments to watch him as if she was trying to figure out what her next words might be.

"They're looking at us," she said, eyeing their table. "Sit down over there so they don't think we're fighting."

He pulled out the bench in front of the piano and sat down, trying his hardest to remember if he could play anything. He could vaguely recall a few simple pieces from when he was younger and started to try his hand at them, guessing in several places and laughing at his own mistakes. Just as one particular piece was starting to come back to him, Elesia decided she was ready to talk.

"I'm pregnant, John."

John's hand slipped and piano let out a jarring sound, and he stared down at the dirty keys, speechless. Elesia started to ramble, spitting out her words nervously.

"I found out this morning and I was going to tell you then, but you were at work. So I decided to wait until you came home, and… well." She came to a stop, twisting the wedding ring on her finger and waiting for him to say something. "I didn't really want to tell you in the bar."

He moved over and motioned for her to sit down next to him on the bench, and when she did, he looked over at her at smiled.

"I hope it gets your eyes," he said simply. There was nothing more to say. He leaned over and kissed her, and as soon as he pulled away, she started to giggle. She brought a hand to her mouth, laughing harder and harder, and then all at once, she was crying.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, trying to catch her breath and wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just so relieved, I… You're going to make a great father."

The two of them sat there for a few more minutes playing around with the piano keys while Elesia waited for her eyes to dry, and when they were ready, they headed back to their table.

"We were starting to think you two'd never come back," Moorin slurred. "Practically finished everything he bought by myself."

"He did. Hey, I didn't even know you could play piano, Johnny," Jennings joked. "Got any other things you never told us?"

"Eh… I'm pretty mediocre at a lot of things." John took a drink, looking over at Elesia. "I guess you could call me a jack of all trades."

"And a handsome jack, at that," she said, winking.

"Gentlemen, I think we'll be headed home a bit earlier than usual this time," John announced, taking out his wallet. "But as for right now, the third round's on Handsome Jack."


	5. Chapter 5

Shot Five

On Gift Giving

John sat at the kitchen table across from his wife, staring down at the plain white mug in his hands and watching the steam rise from the coffee it held. The sun had barely come up, and the light filtering in through the window over the sink was pleasant and pale. His hands were shaking and he never lifted his head to listen to Elesia when she spoke to him.

"You're going to waste another cup if you keep staring at it like that," she said. "You've been quiet."

John said nothing.

"I'm worried about you, John."

"Don't be." He reached across the small table to put a hand on hers, but she could only tolerate it for so long before she pulled away. Her fingers were bare. No nail polish. No nice-smelling lotion. No wedding ring.

"Are you ever going to put it back on?" he asked quietly.

"I will. When the man who gave it to me comes back."

"I'm right here… Elesia, please."

"You're not here. Someone else is." She brushed back her hair, raking through it with her fingers. "Someone distant and cold. You spend all your time researching that damn Eridium—"

"Elesia. Stop, okay? Just give it a rest. I know what I'm doing… Angel is different. She doesn't fit in anywhere, she has no other kids to play with… and she doesn't even know. She has no idea what she could be." He slammed a fist on the table and the spoon in his coffee rattled against the side of the mug. "She could be great! She could do so many things. Have you _seen_ how smart she is? There are things she could do, things she could _know_, that we never even dreamed existed. She just needs a little push. With a push, she could help me, too. No one is going to question the wisdom or authority of a man who has literally every single piece of knowledge on this _planet_ at his fingertips."

"You would exploit her, then? John, listen to yourself! That's exactly what you're saying right now and you're scaring the hell out of me! You would use your own daughter, without even once considering what she wants or cares about. Do you know what she wants, John?" she paused. "To play dress-up with clothes that are too big for her and for her dad to love her like she loves him. She cares nothing for gaining knowledge or power or… or standing above everyone else and bringing judgment down on everyone who's wronged her. She's eight years old. The only person who has ever wronged her is you." She started to tear up, looking away. "Her love for you is incredible, but she catches on. She knows you don't love her the way you once did."

"Quit putting words in my mouth." John raised his voice, feeling anger burning in his chest, begging to break out. "You have no idea how much I love her. She's my little girl. Nothing will ever change that. You don't know my heart."

"I used to."

The silence that ensued was maddening. He glared across the table at her, seeing Angel's bright eyes in her teary ones.

"I don't want to have to leave you. So I'm telling you now." She stood and walked to the sink, pouring her coffee down the drain. "Get your head on straight. Whatever it is you need to do to get this out of your system, do it. But I never want to hear about it again. I'm almost out of chances to give. I want you to prove that you still love me, and that you still love Angel, but until then, I cannot and will not leave her alone here with you."

"What? Leece, are you serious?"

"I've never been more serious. Something is seriously wrong with you lately. I think you need to talk to someone. Angel is coming with me to work today, so you have all day to yourself to seek whatever help you think you might need, and you can see her when we get home."

John was irate. He reminded himself to loosen his grip on the coffee mug and pushed it away before excusing himself from the table and heading into the living room. He began to bitterly rummage through their storage trunk, not bothering to be careful with anything he took out. He tossed blankets to the side and threw books on the floor as he went, only making himself angrier. Who was Elesia to say who he loved or didn't love, or to even take a guess at how he felt? She knew nothing of how hard he'd worked, how much research he'd done, all in the name of making things better for the three of them. They could be happier, wealthier, and living in a house that was actually decent. He could ignite revolutionary change. People would follow him to a new way of living because of everything he could accomplish.

"Are you ready to go, Angel?" he heard Elesia ask from the other room. Angel had walked into the living room dressed and ready for the day, and stopped when she saw him digging around with a clenched jaw and furrowed brow.

"Did you need help finding something, daddy?" she questioned, stepping toward him.

"No, Angel," Elesia said. "He's just—"

_"She was asking me!" _John yelled, slamming a book down on the floor. The sound echoed through the room, and he cleared his throat. "No, sweetheart," he continued calmly. He swallowed, attempting to keep his voice even, and reached into the chest to pull out a tiny jewelry box. His hands trembled visibly as he held it up. "I found what I was looking for."

He gave her a big smile, catching his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall across the room. His hair, which had only recently become streaked with a few strands of gray, was unwashed and wild. The skin around his eyes was dark. He looked crazed.

"It's for you, baby," he told her, his voice catching. "I was saving it for your birthday, but mommy says she thinks I don't love you anymore."

"John…"

"Shut up." He pointed at her. "According to you, I won't ever be able to spend time with my daughter again because you have some ridiculous paranoia problem or trust issues. It's not your place to take my daughter from me. Don't try it." He held the box out, urging Angel to take it. "Go ahead," he said, sounding friendly.

Elesia kept a quiet and watchful eye on her as she crossed the room and grabbed the box, examining it.

"But no matter what mommy says, I do love you," John told her, watching as she opened her gift. "And you love me."

From the box she pulled a small bracelet, silver, adorned with several richly colored inlaid purple stones.

"It's so pretty," she said, awed. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. "It's my favorite color."

"Let me help you get it on," John offered, reaching out and undoing the clasps on the underside. He slipped it over her little wrist, and she looked at it, confused.

"There's something sharp under it," she pointed out.

"Is there? Sorry, honey. I'll see if I can fix it."

Lifting the bracelet slightly, he checked under it, locating the silver spike in question and positioning it exactly where he wanted it. Using both hands, he pressed as hard as he could, sending the spike through her skin. She shrieked, trying to pull away, but he held her there, watching the purple light fade from the stones around her wrist.

"_John!_" Elesia ran forward and grabbed his shirt collar, pulling until he started to choke. He felt her nails digging into the side of his neck, and he grit his teeth.

"Hold… _still!_" he growled.

"Stop! Daddy, stop! It's burning me!"

The stones in the bracelet faded to nothing, and Angel's eyes lit up in their place.

"_Stop!" _she screamed.

There was a blinding flash of light and everything went dark as John was knocked backward, landing flat on his back. He felt all the breath leave his lungs and a searing pain in his face, but forced himself back to his knees and eventually upright.

"Angel," Elesia sobbed from somewhere in the room. John couldn't see anything and he was swallowing his own blood. "Angel, honey, come here—"

"Daddy?"

"No, Angel," Elesia commanded, "Come here. No. Don't look over there, sweetie."

"What did I do?" Angel asked. Her voice was shaking and she could hardly get her words out.

John stumbled toward their voices, holding a hand to his face to cover raw flesh.

"_I did it_," he roared. "Eridium exposure!" The sight started to come back in his right eye just in time for him to see Elesia running out the door with Angel in her arms, but his vision was clouded.

"It worked!" he bellowed after them again. The mirror on the wall showed him something hideous, but he was too proud of himself to care. The symbol of the Vault was branded across his face, still fresh, running deep into his skin and ruining his left eye—a constant reminder of the task that had begun to consume him. He smiled, and his teeth were bloody.

"I was right."

He coughed on his shirt sleeve, spattering it with crimson and laughing until his sides hurt.

"_I was right!"_

He continued to scream the same phrase all through the empty house, repeating it until his throat was raw, and then he yelled inside his head.


	6. Chapter 6

Shot Six

On Existing

**A/N: Thanks for the positive reviews! Has anyone ever wondered what Jack is like on a relatively normal day?**

There were few things worse to Jack than the terrible sound of a buzzing alarm at seven o'clock in the morning after a night of tossing and turning. The constant grating sounds of a wake-up call were awful, albeit necessary, and he knew it wouldn't stop as long as he stayed where he was. It was programmed, as he made it himself, to stop when he actually got up.

"Blake!" he shouted. "Turn off the goddamn alarm!" He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow, waiting.

"You said I should never disable your alarm, sir," said Mr. Blake, appearing in the doorway and speaking loudly to be heard over the incessant buzzing, which was now gradually changing over to a series of beeps. "You really should get up, you know."

"You're the Vice-President of this place, Jimmy. Can't you make decisions on your own?"

"It's Jeffrey, sir, and… no."

Vice-President. He was right, he couldn't make decisions. The title was handed out because it was customary. Vice-President meant nothing more than being Jack's right hand man, a position that could easily be filled with a bit of old-fashioned intimidation and coercion. Anyone in a position lesser than his own practically didn't exist. Jeffrey Blake was just a small fraction of a bit more existent than the rest of them.

Jack glared at him as he stood there in his ugly gray suit with orange pinstripes, looking pale and malnourished as ever. He idly dangled an arm over the edge of the bed, brushing his fingers across the cold tiled floor. The alarm stopped abruptly.

"Are you serious? You're joking. All I have to do to make it stop is touch my damn floor? Jimmy, never get that fixed." He hesitated, sitting up and running a hand through his hair, standing it on end. "But seriously. Get it fixed today. I shouldn't still be sitting here like this."

"I'll come back later, then," Blake told him, sounding bored. He turned to leave and Jack fell back into bed, staring up at the ceiling. As much as he didn't want to be, he was suddenly wide awake. Even though there were very few things worse than being woken up by an alarm every morning, such things existed. Vault Hunters. It was the fact that the Vault Hunters were still living and breathing that got him on his feet every morning. Filthy, uneducated child-killers were wandering Pandora, working every day to make his life harder and emptier than he ever thought possible.

He sat back up and uncovered himself, hating how cold the room felt. It served as his own private quarters as well as a personal work-space when he was off office hours, which was almost always as of late. He had more protection in his living space than in his penthouse office with its glass walls— granted, they were bulletproof and shielded glass walls, but anyone could visit him there if they chose to. The giant _H!_ on the outside walls was a dead giveaway, so most of the time he had a body double sit in his place. Sometimes it would step out on the balcony and wave to the people below. All of his "appearances" were now done via live broadcast to the many screens throughout the city, and he took the occasional call.

The first thing he did upon getting out of bed was head directly to his command center, stifling a yawn that resulted in a full-body shiver. Without a thought, he pushed the same button he pushed every morning and listened to his own voice through the window, greeting the city with a cheerfully spoken pre-recorded message. He made a face and mockingly mouthed the few beginning words.

"Citizens of Opportunity: Just a friendly reminder that if you're still in bed, you're lazy! Here at Hyperion, we value productivity and ambition, and require it of all our employees _and _dependents. _That's you_!" The recording continued as he sat at his personal desk in a plain white t-shirt and boxers, checking his records and messages to start the day and casually reminding himself as he thumbed through them that he hated each and every person who'd sent him anything. "I, Handsome Jack, have been up for two hours already so I could get right to work on making this city a better place for each and every person who sets foot in these gates. Have a safe and industrious work day!"

_I, Handsome Jack, _he thought to himself, _have been up for a total of five minutes!_

His vision was still slightly blurry, and he blinked several times hoping to clear it. He set the voice recordings to play on a loop and headed to take a shower, hearing his voice fade as he walked farther away from the window.

"Hey kids!" said his recording enthusiastically. "Do you know what your mommies and daddies gave up so your family could live in Opportunity? Literally nothing!"

As it turned out, a shower was exactly what he needed to get his mind running at a fully functional pace. He stayed under the hot water for as long as he could justify, which, unfortunately, wasn't long at all, and he stepped out and got dressed while he waited for the steam on the mirror to clear. He put on a pair of jeans and an orange long-sleeved shirt, pushing up the sleeves and noticing that the tattoo on his right wrist was fading slightly. It was getting old, anyway. Standing in front of the mirror, he took a comb to his hair, styling it exactly the same way he always did and smiling smugly at his own reflection.

"Sir?" crackled Blake's voice over his Echo device. "I really hate to be a bother, but you have an appearance scheduled later this evening, so you probably shouldn't stay in bed all day."

"I'm already up," Jack replied, heading back over to the desk. "Did you really think I'd lay there for hours on end and do nothing?" He would've.

"No," Blake told him, no longer over the Echo, but as he entered the room holding a small plate. "Of course not. It never hurts to make sure, though... I brought you a bagel."

Jack watched him suspiciously and took the plate, taking a bite out of the bagel as he went on.

"Were you standing in the hallway?"

"I was not. I just reach my destinations quickly upon being summoned, sir."

"…Right. So what's on the agenda for today, Jimmy?"

"It's Jeff—" Blake closed his eyes tight and opened them again, forcing a smile. "Just a few menial tasks, sir, and the rest of the day is yours to spend how you see fit."

"What a great schedule, Jeremy!"

"You created it yourself, sir."

"Oh, that's right… I did, didn't I?" Jack sat down in his desk chair and propped his feet up, taking another bite of his bagel. "Hey—on a scale of ten to unbelievable, how good do you think I look today?"

"Devilishly handsome, Mr. President."

"Great! That's what I thought, too." He grabbed a remote and turned on the over-sized monitor in front of him, watching as the Vault Hunters sat around a disgusting looking table inside a bandit hideout they'd seemingly just cleared. The Commando was casually dealing playing cards out to the others, who all looked quite pleased with themselves. Like they'd never killed a child. Like they didn't take his daughter from him only a few days previously.

"Mornin' Vault Hunters!" he said, holding down a button on the remote. The short, beefy one slammed his head down on the table at the sound of his voice. The rest ignored him and kept playing cards. "I slept great… Did you have a nice sleep? Hold on, do you even sleep? Or do you just stay up all night preforming rituals with the blood of slaughtered children? Pardon me. That was rude." He kept eating, continuing with his mouth full. "So I've got this amazing bagel my assistant Jacob made for me this morning. Breakfast is really important. What do you guys eat to start the day? Wait, I don't want to know. It's been too good of a day so far for that kind of information. I guess I'll check up on you a little later, when I'm closer to being able to put my bullets through your eyes. See ya!"

He turned off the monitor and set the plate aside, letting his eyes linger too long on the photograph sitting next to it. A moment between him and a young Angel caught at the perfect time. She was sitting atop his shoulders and he was holding onto her ankles; one of her little white tennis shoes was about to fall off. She had a slight sunburn and her arms were around his neck as she hid her face in his hair, feeling shy. Jack was looking sideways at the camera, only just having realized his picture was being taken. He lifted a hand and flipped the framed photo face down on the desk before turning away from it and giving Mr. Blake a fake smile that didn't reach his eyes. He tilted his head.

"Moments like that are unrealistic," he said darkly. "They don't exist here."

"Pandora is quite a different place than Tantalus, sir." Mr. Blake picked up the plate and sat the picture upright again, but Jack refused to look at it. "You seem to be all out of sorts ever since… well, this past week or so."

"Ever since what, Blake?"

"I—"

"No, go ahead. You can say it." Jack leaned forward and folded his hands, staring at the Vice-President intently. "Maybe I just need to hear it."

"Sir—"

"_Say it, _Blake."

"You've not been yourself since your daughter passed."

Jack laughed. _Since she passed._ Angel didn't _pass. _She was murdered, and he was forced to watch. He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes low.

"Maybe a bit of target practice will get your spirits up, hmm?" Blake asked. "The prototypes for the new guns you designed arrived this morning."

"I'd like to see them."

He put on his vest and jacket and made his way out of the room, walking down to the indoor firing range with Blake just a few steps behind. He tried to clear his mind as he went, but found himself only getting angrier. Inside the range, he opened a locker that held several sheets of paper, each one printed with the mug shot of a Vault Hunter followed by the reward for his or her capture. He carried them over to the targets and pinned them on, smiling. As he took his position, Blake handed him a sleek looking pistol; it was primarily green and had a bright yellow stripe down both sides.

"The Maximized Vision," Blake said, sounding proud. "Others that came in today include Cohesion Hybridification, Analytical Transmurdera, and the Practical Conference Call. Four of your best, if I do say so myself."

Jack aimed the pistol and took his best shot, but it went high and missed the mark.

"How is your eyesight today, sir?"

Jack wheeled around and took a shot at Blake, missing him by several inches and putting a bullet-sized dent in the wall behind him.

"Same as usual," he replied, turning back to the targets and taking aim again. He pulled the trigger and missed a third time, though not by quite as much. Ever since losing the sight in his left eye and damaging the other, his depth perception had been off and he'd had to account for it. "But you know what?" He fired off twenty-three more rounds in rapid succession, and twenty of them hit their mark dead on. By the time he was finished, the Commando's poster was hardly recognizable, and the Siren had several wounds of her own. "That's why I design auto-correcting guns."

He put the pistol down and picked up the Conference Call, loving the way the shotgun sat in his hands. It was entirely black except for one thick, bright red band. He took a few practice shots with it, testing the feel to judge whether or not the design was successful. He'd intended for it to keep still and have a much lower recoil than other arms similar to it, and so far, it was doing its job perfectly. He destroyed the wanted posters on the other targets, feeling increasingly satisfied, and he knew exactly what he wanted to use when he avenged his little girl.

"Do you have a daughter, Blake?" he asked, still staring at the targets, feeling his heart race.

"No, sir."

"What about a son?"

"No children. I have devoted my life to the advancement of the Hyperion Corporation."

"Good…" Jack said, turning around. "Good."

He began to pace back and forth with perfect posture as if he was addressing a crowd, and kept his voice even and professional.

"Let me tell you something about kids, Mr. Blake. They come into your life when you least expect them to, and they steal your heart with their big, _big, _blue eyes. They're precious, really. And you love them and they love you back, and you play games with them and they call you 'dad.' You spend all your time loving them. You never stop. You protect them from any form of harm you can imagine, because if anything ever happened to your blue-eyed daughter, you would be crushed beyond repair." He was silent for a moment and stopped pacing, looking up at the ceiling. "But one day, the kid grows up. You don't know when it happens, and you're left wondering why it had to, but it does. And suddenly, you can't protect them anymore. When you can't protect them anymore… that's when you lose them."


	7. Chapter 7

Shot Seven

On Lust, Puppies, and Bandits

The air was hot and dry. There was very little wind, but every time the slightest breeze moved through, it kicked up a cloud of dust that hung in the air persistently. Jack hadn't been anywhere near New Haven since he'd ordered Wilhelm to destroy the place. It looked as though some rebuilding had been done since, and in his personal opinion, it looked better flattened. It was filled with bandits the last time he paid a visit, and as he took aim with his sniper rifle from just inside the entrance to the train station, it was clear it was filled with bandits again. He took his shot and was greeted immediately following by the satisfying sight of a dead marauder in front of the makeshift pharmacy.

It didn't much matter to him whether the town was unlawful or not. If everyone who'd gathered there abided by the laws, sure, he'd have less to worry about, but there was something exciting about the fact that so many of the people he wanted dead were all flocking to one place. He would destroy New Haven over and over again if he had to, and as long as the outlaws kept coming, he'd keep killing them. Taking aim again, he waited for yet another cloud of dust to disappear, but before he could fire, a gunshot sounded from behind him and his target dropped dead.

"Hold it, Handsome," commanded a sultry voice from a few feet behind him. He turned around to see a dark-haired woman in a long trench coat and black leather pants; her skin was tan and she was covered in the red-brown dust that filled the air. She lifted her pistol and pushed it right up against his chest over his heart and he brushed it away, laughing.

"Did you just tell me to 'hold it'?" He laughed again, harder this time. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Of course I know who _you _are, Jack." She lifted the pistol again, this time resting the cold metal against his neck. "Do you know who I am? Despite what you may think, you're not exactly well-liked… and killing you would make _me _the most famous woman on Pandora."

Jack smirked at her, but her gaze didn't falter.

"You would be more intimidating if that gun was ready to fire."

She moved the gun just barely to his left and fired it, then proceeded to reload it and put it back against his skin, proving that it was. She lifted his chin with it and moved closer, and he eyed her as she spoke into his ear. He could feel her breath on his neck.

"Round these parts, they call me the Sheriff. Do you know why? Because no one here kills bandits but me. Got it? I shoot them. I hang them. I blow them up. I strangle them. You might not know it, but the rewards you hand out for the bandit kills in this town go to me. You pay me, and I like it that way."

"Good to know," Jack told her, sounding bored. She'd backed him up against the concrete wall and a wry smile had formed on her lips. "But you know what? This planet is under my control. I don't care how big you think you are around here… we both know you're not a real sheriff."

"I like you," she said, lowering her gun. "We could get along. Come with me and I'll show you my latest catch… not counting yourself."

He followed her into the center of the town, kicking up dust as they went and enjoying the way windows shut and people hid as they walked by. He had to admit she knew what she was doing, and he liked it. The way she spoke and walked screamed that she was in control, and even though she had no real authority, no one challenged her. No one challenged him either, and he got the feeling both of them were looking for a challenge.

"You ever thought of doing anything with this place after you burnt it to the ground?" she asked, walking ahead of him. "It's become nothin' more than a bandit-trap. Somehow, they always show up here… but I like it. It gives me something to do. And a way to earn a living."

"If you like this dust-bowl that much, you can have it," Jack muttered, continuing to watch her walk.

"You just skip the flowers and charming and go straight to the city-giving, huh?" she said nonchalantly. "Sarcastic or not, I'll be sure to take you up on that."

She walked through the entrance to a small building and put a hand on her hip as she came to a stop in front of a jail cell that was using electrical fields in place of bars. There was a huge brute of a man sitting inside, looking like there was nothing going through his mind other than the word '_kill._'

"He's been in here for about a week now," said the Sheriff without taking her eyes off him. "Says he's gonna kill you for what you did to this place. Can't have that, can we? I'd never get paid again. I've got no problem keeping him in here, really. It's just that the guy has the loudest voice… he'll be heard when he wants to be heard, which honestly just doesn't work for me when I'm trying to sleep."

"This guy again, huh?" Jack asked. He smiled through the electrical barrier and the man growled at him. Like an animal. Disgusting. "What's up, Brick? How you been holdin' up, buddy?"

He could see the hatred in Brick's expression, but it only made him laugh.

"If you wanna treat me like a bandit," he growled, "I'll be a bandit. And I swear—when I am, I'll rip you to pieces with my bare hands."

"_Ooh_." Jack winced, getting a little closer. "Sounds like a lot of fun for someone like you. It's a shame you and your Vault Hunter friends won't get the pleasure. You're weak, uneducated and filthy. It takes more than brute force to deal with someone like me. I sit back, and I figure out your weaknesses one at a time, and you can bet I'll use them against you."

"I've already figured it out," the Sheriff stated matter-of-factly. She reached under the lone desk in the corner and unlocked a much smaller cage, pulling out a small, shaking puppy. It was a chocolate brown with big eyes, and its fur was still fuzzy, indicating its young age. It whimpered as she held it by the collar, letting it dangle in the air.

"No!" Brick yelled, standing. "Put Dusty down!"

"Dusty, huh?" She turned the struggling dog around and looked at it, grinning. "Cute. Well I say Dusty here is mine now, considering you're stuck in there. We can't let him go without an owner, can we, Jack?"

"That would just be cruel," Jack replied.

"I know _I_ don't have a place for the poor thing, do you?"

"Even if I did, I can't say I want it."

"What a shame," she pouted, dropping it. It yelped as it hit the floor, and she caught its tail with her boot before it could run. It nipped at her ankles, and she cackled at its pitiful attempts to hurt her. "I guess that makes this little guy homeless."

_"Stop!"_ Brick bellowed as she kneeled down and wrapped her hands around Dusty's neck.

She laughed quietly as she squeezed, and Jack watched Brick's expression turn from rage to horror in a matter of seconds. The dog continued to yelp and scratched her forearm with its back paws, and the Sheriff immediately gave its head a twist, snapping its neck. She stood up and kicked the body to the side, wiping her hands on her coat. Brick was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking with rage and hysteria, yelling incomprehensible things at the both of them.

"Looks like I finally got to you," she said, casually turning and sauntering out the door.

After walking just a few feet, she grabbed Jack by his vest, and shoved him through another doorway, smirking at him.

"Look," she started. "I'm gonna be honest with you, Handsome. You're the only one who would enjoy breaking that idiot down as much as I did, and it really turns me on. The sooner you leave, the sooner the bandits will come back out, I can forget all about it, and you can keep on paying me for my work. It's been real." She turned on her heel, but stopped suddenly when he spoke.

"Hold it," he said, drawing his own pistol and pointing it at her back. She slowly turned back around, expressionless. "Two can play at that game."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Of course not," he said in a low voice, moving closer. He lowered the gun and pressed it against the bare skin just above her belt, and she eyed him as he slid it over and tapped the barrel against her buckle. "I never caught your name."

"You don't need to know my name just yet," she told him. "Not for the reasons I want you here."


	8. Chapter 8

Shot Eight

On Forever

**A/N: Thanks for the faithful reading you've done! I'm having so much fun writing these. Keep in mind, if you have any ideas for one-shots, or anything mentioned in Jack's past you'd like to see my take on, leave a review or send me a private message letting me know and I'll see what I can do!**

Working from home was almost as hard as working at work. The garage was too small and stuffy, and while most people would consider the opportunity to work out of the comfort of their own home to be a blessing, that wasn't the case for John. Hyperion always had the materials he needed, and even though he was ignored despite the amount of work he did, he was given space that was more than adequate. There was also the immediate access to hundreds of thousands of blueprints from years previous to use as references, and nothing was better than a stack of ideas. What worked and what didn't work in the past was readily visible, as well as designs that were never acted on. Reading through them was somewhat of a guilty pleasure of his; ideas in and of themselves were motivating. He could— and would— study them for hours during his free time. The problem was that at work, these books and prints and ideas had places to be stored. At home, they were shoved into every place he could imagine, and when he'd run out of room, they started to take up his space. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. As references went, they were beautiful.

He stood up straight and admired his project, feeling sore but proud of what he'd made. It was a loader, completely assembled but not _quite_ finished. It was still deactivated because there were a few finishing touches that needed to be made, and John wanted to be absolutely sure everything was perfect before activating it—the last time he'd activated one before it was ready, it resulted in a rather large out-of-pocket expense paid to replace the south side of the roof. A terrible day, really, but one in which he realized he was still more inclined to design robots and run codes than repair homes. Using his forearm to wipe his brow, he succeeded in little more than smearing oil and grease across his face. His arms and shirt and jeans were covered in it, and he was sure his hair was sticking up in all directions.

"Hey." Elesia's voice floated through the doorway and he looked over at her; she was wearing a simple tank top and shorts and holding a glass of water. Her hair was pulled back, and a slight tan was exaggerating the freckles on her cheeks and shoulders. "I brought you some water… you've been out here all day."

"Thanks," John said, wiping his hands off on his jeans and grabbing the glass from her. He took a drink and nodded casually at the loader, directing her attention to it. "It's almost done."

"Yeah? So what's the catch with this guy? Looks like a normal loader to me, but you wouldn't be working so hard on something you've done a million times before."

"Nah. For the first time ever, I'm doing what I want."

"Tassiter is letting you do what you want?"

"No." John laughed at the thought of Tassiter agreeing to anything he requested. "I had an idea and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Let's call it a secret and keep it that way. I kept the basic loader design—simple and efficient, but went for something new in the programming."

Elesia tried to keep a straight face and failed, ending up with a strange, worried sort of smile.

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing," she told him. "It's just that… you know. The last time you secretly tried something new we had a hole in our roof for three days."

"I've got it this time, but I won't activate it until I get it out of here." he assured her. "If anything bad happens, it won't be for another ten to fifteen years… at least. Check it out." He walked over to his drafting table and began to shuffle through the pile of prints and notes that lay there, mumbling to himself until he finally found what he was looking for. Elesia came up behind him and rested her head on his shoulder, looking over the page with him.

"Have you named it yet?" she asked.

"No. See, that's the best part." John grinned, excited. "It doesn't need a name. If everything goes as planned, it'll be able to come up with a name for itself. Not only a name, but preferences. Favorite colors, a style of speech, personality… it could decide its own gender and aspirations. I designed a different core than the ones we usually put in. It's programmed to be an automated intelligence bot, and through the years, theoretically, it'll learn from the humans that work with it. Definitely a long-term project, but it'll be worth it. If my design holds up, it could gain self-awareness and hold a completely intelligent conversation with whoever speaks to it, telling them about its life or whatever it happens to be dwelling on at the time. Those kinds of scientific advancements are amazing and I'm honored to be able to contribute to something that could make such a difference in the way everything works. I can't believe…" He stopped, feeling self-conscious. "I'm rambling."

"No, go on," Elesia said. "This is the highlight of my day. I don't think you realize how much I love the way your face lights up when you go all science on me. It's a good thing I understand what you're talking about."

"One of the reasons I love you so much." John took another sip of water and set the glass down, exchanging it for the power core and holding it out to her. He winked and she took it from him, smiling playfully. "Wanna install it?"

"You'd really let me do it? This is your baby."

"I designed it. It won't hurt anything if you help me put it together." He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. "You _do _remember how to do it, don't you?"

"I bet I know how to do it better than you do."

Elesia put on a pair of goggles and tossed her hair over her shoulder, letting the ponytail fall down her back as she set the power core in its spot and began to connect the wires.

"You made it too easy," she said. "I've worked with worse."

She turned around with her hands on her hips and grease on her fingers when she was done, tilting her head sideways in satisfaction. "Any other jobs for me, boss?"

John gave a short laugh, feeling guilty about everything that came to mind. Instead of dwelling on it for too long, he shook his head.

"Nope." He wiped down his arms and hands with a rag and threw it over his shoulder, heading toward the door. "Not unless you've got something in mind."

"I do, actually," Elesia said quietly. John turned around to look at her, and she was holding a small black box in her hand. "I found this earlier in the worst hiding spot ever, and I was wondering if you could explain it to me."

There was a long stretch of silence between both of them as John stared at the box in disbelief. He'd never been able to hide anything from her. Not presents, not secrets, not surprises, and apparently, not rings. He ran a hand through his hair and let his arms drop, sighing.

"Shit."

Elesia took off her goggles and put a hand on his chest. She kissed him, laughing.

"I've been ruining your plans for three years, haven't I?"

"I guess this is it, then… As much as I hate to say it," John told her, wiping a smudge of oil from her neck with his thumb. "I'd really like it if you ruined them for the rest of my life."

Elesia laughed as he pulled her in for another kiss, longer this time, and they stood together in the garage, smudged with grease, dirt, and imperfect timing. With nothing but an unpowered Hyperion bot and piles of blueprints for company, John asked Elesia to marry him, and she said yes.


	9. Chapter 9

Shot Nine

On Sick Days

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful compliments on the shots so far!**

The groggy feeling of slowly waking up after a night of sleep usually brought on a rather contented sort of state. On a normal day the sheets would be warm and the room would be dim, and John would get out of bed a few minutes before his alarm was set to go off and start the day with a cup of coffee and maybe the newspaper. Some days weren't quite that easy.

On this particular morning, the room was still dark as could be and the covers weren't warm— they were practically ablaze. He pushed them back, hoping the open air would help cool him off, but it didn't. Elesia stirred next to him and rolled over, still asleep, and he was overcome with a wave of unnecessary jealousy. A good night's sleep was all he'd really wanted. He squinted and stared at the time on the alarm next to the bed, but couldn't read it. The red numbers made his eyes hurt. He fumbled around on the nightstand for his glasses and shoved them on, but it was so dark that they were of little help. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, he looked at the time again, noting it was just after five in the morning. He'd been robbed of a whole hour's rest.

He closed his eyes and pressed his hands into them, letting his glasses slide up into his hair and wishing the horrible heat would subside. His stomach was churning and his head felt like it was filled with cotton. He couldn't think or see straight, not that there was much to see anyway. After a few more minutes of intense hoping and steady breathing, the feelings still hadn't gone away and he got out of bed, standing too fast and nearly falling over. He steadied himself on the bedside table, sacrificing the lamp instead, and swore under his breath when it fell over. His wife sat up in the dark, looking around, disoriented.

"John?" she muttered sleepily. "What are you doing?"

He stumbled away from the bed and out into the hallway, feeling his way as he went, sicker than he was only moments ago. He flicked on the light as he tumbled through the bathroom door, loving the way the cool tile felt on his feet. Resting his face against the wall, he felt a chill run down his spine. The cold surface was refreshing, and he stood that way for what felt like an eternity; shirtless, blue pajama pants too long, arms dangling at his sides, glasses askew.

"Are you okay?" Elesia was asking from the doorway. When did she get there? Her long black hair was tangled and there were dark circles under her eyes. John wished he didn't feel like he was going to throw up, because then he'd be able to concentrate harder on the fact that her tank top was too short and he could see her hips. He'd concentrate on it another time. He turned his head to look at his reflection in the mirror, miserable. His cheeks were slightly flushed, making the rest of him look pale in comparison, and the left side of his face was scrunched pathetically up against the doorframe. His hair was sticking up in all directions. Elesia put her hand to his forehead and slid it down his back to rest on his waist, looking at him sadly in the mirror. "You're feverish. I'd go ahead and take the day to rest."

"Can't," John said shortly after his stomach started to calm down. "Tassiter."

"Oh, forget Tassiter." She rested her head on his shoulder and kissed at his neck. When she continued talking, her words tickled his collarbone. "He's all talk. He'll be mad at you for five minutes over the Echo, and you don't even have to listen. Just pretend, and then go back to sleep."

"Are you gonna stay home with me and keep kissing my neck like that?"

"Not this time," she said, looking up and touching the tip of her nose to his jawline. "But I wouldn't say no to a one-on-one sick day sometime soon."

John closed his eyes and smiled at the thought, realizing he'd finally cooled off. A bit too much, actually. After walking back to the bedroom he grabbed his unwashed work shirt from the day before and slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned out of laziness and the fact that he'd probably get hot again. He knew he looked ridiculous in his pajama pants with an open and wrinkly dress shirt leaving his chest and stomach exposed, but he couldn't think of a time he'd ever cared less. He shuffled into the kitchen and idly coaxed a cigarette out of his half-empty pack. He knew it probably wouldn't help him feel any better in the long run, but it sure as hell sounded good in the moment. Grabbing his lighter, he lit it absentmindedly and pushed his way out the side door with a shoulder, stepping onto the patio and lifting the cigarette to his lips. The smoke swirled around in the brisk morning air, and he enjoyed watching it each time he exhaled. Slowly. The morning would be slow. There was no reason for it not to be. He leaned against the side of the house, letting the cigarette hang from his lips as he started to call Mr. Tassiter over the Echo, dreading the conversation.

"What is it, John?" Tassiter snapped. John exhaled another cloud of smoke and cleared his throat, trying to sound polite. He didn't feel like being polite.

"I won't be able to make it in today," he started. "Woke up sick, fever and everything."

"What do you _mean _you 'won't be able to make it in today'?" Here it was. "We've got one of our most important meetings of the year coming up in _two days_ and you _won't be able to make it in?_"

The yelling continued for roughly the five minutes Elesia had predicted, and John put out his cigarette and watched the sun come up after lowering the volume on the Echo considerably. Tassiter wasn't quite so bad when he was quiet. He gave a quick "uh huh, see you tomorrow" of affirmation before ending the call, and headed inside. Back in the bedroom, Elesia was attempting to put together an outfit for work, but a blue-eyed puddle of tears was slowing her down.

"Looks like you're not the only one who'll be home today," she told him apologetically, holding up a skirt and examining it.

Angel was sitting on the edge of their bed, her feet dangling several inches above the ground. Her cheeks were red and she couldn't stop sniffling. She was wrapped up in all the blankets she could get hold of, but she was still shivering. John buttoned up the front of his shirt and went to sit down next to her, and she fell into his side, crying. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red.

"Daddy," she choked out. "My tummy hurts."

He felt his heart break for her, and squeezed her close to his side. Even after five years, he still wasn't resigned to the fact there was nothing he could do to make things immediately okay when she cried.

"You too, huh? So does mine, baby. We'll be okay."

"I can't get warm." Her voice was weak, and she coughed into the blankets, hiding her face. He scooped her up and set her on his lap, holding her tighter.

"Pretty soon you'll be so warm you won't know what to do with yourself," he said, poking around in the blankets until he found her face. He scrunched his nose up at her and she giggled, followed by another awful cough. At least the tears were gone.

"Okay," Elesia sighed, looking at them. "As much I'd like to stay, I've got to get ready for work. I love you both, though, and I'll see you when I get home."

Angel struggled her way out of the blankets and climbed off the bed to give her a hug before she went, and John propped up a few pillows and leaned back against the headboard, laughing to himself over his terrible shirt and pajama pants combination. He admired Angel's hair as she waved goodbye to her mother; it was curling and tangled, just like Elesia's had been earlier that morning. She turned back to him after she'd gone and got on the bed again, crawling over to him and laying her head on his stomach as he sat there. He tucked the hair behind her ear and she gathered the blankets again.

"It's just you and me today, Angel," he yawned, ruffling her curls. "What did you want to do?"

"Nothing," she told him, closing her eyes. He laughed.

"Really? Me too."

She buried her face in his side and he played with her hair until she fell asleep, and it was only a few minutes later when he drifted off after her.


	10. Chapter 10

Shot Ten

On Enduring Love

**A/N: Thank you for the consistent reviews and comments! As a fair warning, this chapter contains a bit of abuse and if that bothers you or triggers you, please consider skipping over this one or proceeding with caution. Thanks!**

The table he was lying on was uncomfortable in a way John never could've imagined. It was hard and cold, made of steel with a pitiful attempt at a cushion attached. The lights in the room were blindingly bright and everything smelled clean. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. In a way, he was excited. No… not excited. Just ready to get it over with. To be himself again. To be loved.

"Alright, John. Are you ready?"

"Do your worst," he answered, closing his eyes and thinking back to earlier that morning.

* * *

"It's funny, isn't it?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling. The sheets were cold. The usual warmth of Elesia's body next to his had been fading for several weeks, and now it was almost absent.

"What's funny?" she questioned, facing the wall opposite him. She would never look him in the eye anymore.

"The way people can leave someone they've loved for years just because things are a little different." Elesia was silent as he spoke. John could feel her body tense up next to him, and he knew he'd caught her in a vulnerable state. "Whoever it is that's taken you from me… I'll kill him."

She swallowed a knot in her throat and started to sit up slowly, putting her feet on the ground.

"There's no one else," she whispered. Her voice was so small, John could barely hear it.

"Liar."

She stood up without a response and began to walk to the closet, apparently attempting to avoid confrontation. She would get dressed and leave again, like she did every morning, without so much as a kiss goodbye. He could feel her drifting away. Their bedroom was impossibly clean because she spent so much time straightening to keep her mind off other things. He missed the days when they would come home to a house that was far from perfect, looking lived-in and like a second priority. Everything came after their relationship and their daughter. He felt loved, and she told him how much she cared. It was gone. He got out of bed and followed her, standing behind her and whispering in her ear.

"I still love you. I've never loved anyone more than I love you. When I told you the day we got married that I'd love you until I died, I meant it. Maybe it was all metaphorical for you, but it wasn't for me." He put his hands on her waist as she stared into the closet, stiff.

"I don't love anyone else," she said shakily.

"You don't love me, either. Do you?" he squeezed her waist and turned her around, closing the closet door and pushing her up against it. She winced at the impact, and when she opened her eyes, she would only look out the window. "Look at me," John demanded.

Elesia set her jaw and met his glare, her chest rising and falling with each heated breath she took.

"What do you want from me?" she asked.

"I want you to quit skulking around here all the damn time and tell me you still love me!"

"Let me go."

"No. Not until you tell me why _the hell_ you're acting this way!"

"_This is why!" _Elesia screamed. She beat a fist against his chest and he grabbed both her wrists, holding them tightly to her sides. "Look at yourself! You're _nothing_ to me anymore," she spat. Angry tears ran down her face as she stared at him, the first time she'd really looked at him in days. She attempted to move away from him, and he slammed her into the closet door again, harder this time.

"Is it because I don't look the same? Huh? Are you afraid of me, baby? Are you afraid of the way I look?"

"I'm afraid of the _reason_ you look this way! You think you're innocent, you think you still deserve my love, when all you've done is take my trust and crush it! There was hope for us, John. So much hope. And you lost it _all_ the day you got those scars! _Let. Me. Go."_

He kept hold of her and leaned forward, pressing his lips to her neck.

"I can be better," he muttered. "I did what I had to do. Think of everything we know now that we didn't know before."

"Stop…"

"Our little Angel has been so helpful."

"Don't talk about her like she's some sort of experiment!" Elesia broke one hand free and brought it to his face, pushing him away and clawing at his damaged and scarred skin with her nails. He let out a gasp and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She struggled as she tried to speak up again, and the sight of her grimacing at the pain was something he hated himself for liking. "I'll die before I let you use my baby girl."

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open made both of them jump. John moved one hand from Elesia's hair to gently caress her neck, and pinned the other behind her back. She let out a pained laugh and gradually turned it into a more convincing and lighthearted one for her daughter's benefit, who stood eyeing them apprehensively.

"Are you okay, mommy?" she asked, sounding concerned.

"I'm fine, baby," Elesia laughed, smiling. She looked at John. "Mommy just really doesn't want to be tickled this morning. Seriously, John… I have to get ready for work."

"Alright," he said, tracing a finger along her collarbones. He twisted the arm behind her back, out of sight, holding her wrist tighter. "Can I have a kiss before you leave?"

"How could I say no?" Elesia asked. She leaned in and kissed him, and the feeling of her lips against his was one he'd missed considerably.

"My thoughts exactly," he said darkly. "Who do you love?"

She tilted her head at him, and not even her practiced fake grin could hide the tears she fought back.

"Not now," she pleaded in a whisper.

"Let me ask again." He held her arm tighter still and she smiled against the pain, laughing as the tears finally started to run down her cheeks again.

"You," she told him. Her voice was strained and she sounded bitter. "I love _you_."

"I love you, too."

* * *

"Good. So, first things first," said the man in the white coat. He was a scientist, gifted in creation and application, renowned for his work not only on bots and machines, but humans as well. He was old and tired-looking. John couldn't remember his name. It was stitched over his coat pocket, but everything was blurry and he hadn't quite gotten used to only having sight in one eye. He was uncomfortable and the lights were too bright.

"As you know, reconstruction of your face itself at this point is entirely impossible. The extent and nature of the injury is such that it cannot be repaired. The scarring is too deep. However, at your request, I've managed to come up with something a little different. Based on the scans of your bone structure and the photographs I've studied, I've constructed a mask that mirrors who you once were in appearance. Now I might add, once it's on, it won't be easy to remove, but it might help with the residual pain and…" he examined some notes on a clipboard and looked down at John over the top of his glasses. "Taunting."

"Why would I take it off?" John asked quietly, bored.

"I was just letting you know. Is this something you still want to continue with?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Right. Well, the first and most extensive part of the procedure is… erm… _installing_ the hinges that will hold the mask in place. There are several, the main ones being on the forehead near the temples and at the chin. There are also smaller pieces at the side of either eye, but those are primarily for fitting purposes. After that, it's making sure everything sits correctly, and then of course, the recovery process. It shouldn't take long, mind you. The incisions, while painful, are minor."

"Let's get started then, hmm?"

"Um… yes." The scientist gave him a strange sort of look, as if to wonder why someone would be so bold as to do such a thing. "As a researcher I've always been curious about motives, if I might say so. I… may I ask why you'd request something like this?"

"Why not?" John sighed, closing his eyes against the bright lights again. "I want to be myself again. I want people to see the face they once knew and know who they're dealing with. I want my wife to love me the way she did when I married her and stop cringing when she looks at me… I could go on."

"Oh. Well that's… that's personal—"

"You're asking personal questions. Did you not want personal answers? I'm being open with you. You should consider yourself lucky."

The fact of the matter was that he wasn't lucky at all. John would share secrets and personal feelings with him all day, but the first thing he'd do before he left was slit his throat.

"Lucky. Yes. Well, this will certainly be something new. A good experience, mind you. How do you prefer to go under?" the scientist asked, holding his pen ready on the clipboard.

"Go under?" John repeated. "You mean like injecting me with some crap to make me sleep through everything?"

"I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Not at all, then. Thanks."

"Not at all? You mean you'd… you'd want to be awake? I'm not sure that's advised."

"I have a high tolerance for pain, _doctor. _I like it. In _so many_ different ways. Do you want to talk about that? Because it gets pretty personal." John sneered up at him. "It helps me remember. I want to remember this."


End file.
